


not from the absence of violence

by ephemeralstar



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jesse Gets Out Of The Business In Season 5 When He Wants To, Character Development, Co-Parenting, Dubiously Legal Adoption, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Reference Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jesse Badger and Skinny Pete Drink Respect Trans Kids Juice, Kid Fic, Trans Male Character, Unconventional Families, Underage Drug Use, jesse/happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/ephemeralstar
Summary: Sometimes a family is one of the (former) best meth cooks in America, his two best friends who happen to be (former) meth dealers, a teenage runaway, and five million dollars.--"...and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it."- Richard Siken
Relationships: Brandon "Badger" Mayhew & Jesse Pinkman & Skinny Pete, Brandon "Badger" Mayhew & Original Character(s), Jesse Pinkman & Original Character(s), Skinny Pete & Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	not from the absence of violence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sam-Writes (Oh_DAMNeron)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_DAMNeron/gifts).



There's a hollow feeling in Jesse's chest that he's been trying to avoid since getting out of the business, since being bought out for five million dollars, since saying goodbye to Mr White, who was probably both the best and worst thing to happen to him. It's been just over a year since all this shit began, and he's spent more nights asleep in meth labs, cars, and different people's beds than he has in his own house. So it's not exactly surprising that the idea of going _home_ , to his gigantic, empty-ass house, and going to sleep on sheets he hasn't washed for at least a few months, _alone_ , makes his skin crawl. He spends a few days in the back of his car, which, while still utterly grimy, feels more cosy than his empty bed would. He eats garbage fast food and pretends like he isn't a millionaire, like his drug money, his blood money, will keep him comfortable for the rest of his life if he's careful enough. The irony of him living off of Los Pollos Hermanos' chicken for the better part of a week is not lost on him.

He feels different, not triumphant, just... _hollow_. Where does he go from here?

Home.

Back to the place where he'd melted his first body, where he and Mr White had held a guy hostage, where he'd tried to drown himself in booze and meth after he'd gotten Andrea's brother killed, where he'd taken care of his Aunt for the last few years of her life. It's not like he has anywhere else to go.

Someone's broken his side window. As in, they'd _broken in_ through the side window. It's the first thing he notices when he pulls into the driveway.

Jesse's first though is that someone's come to get him for trying to get out of the business; it had felt _far_ too easy, the fact that he and Mike had still gotten away with their share; well, he'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since the deal had been finalized. Once Damien and his crew had driven off into the sunset, he and Mike had checked over their cash, and headed back to the pest control workshop. It had been a bitter goodbye, Mr White clearly wasn't thrilled to lose either of them, but he'd reasoned that he'd make more money than they would; he'd justified it to himself. 

They'd said their goodbyes, Jesse had gotten into his car, dufflebags full of money in the trunk, and he'd driven until he was about to pass out. No destination in mind, he drove for so hours upon hours, with the city and desert all an indistinguishable blur outside the safety of his shitty, little red car. He'd driven to the ocean, looked out at the waves and felt so endlessly nauseous, not sea sick, but like he'd gotten away with murder. Okay, more like how he'd felt after he'd gotten away with murder _the first time_. What a strange and terrible sentiment, it had him both disgusted and amused in equal measure, had him chuckling despite himself. 

So he drove back.

Lived in his car for the better part of a week.

And came home to a break-in. Or a possible hitman. Where the _fuck_ did he put his gun? It's under the driver's seat of his car, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he notes that other people don't usually have this sort of shit to deal with. Wouldn't that be nice? To not worry about being killed in your own home? 

Gun steady in his hand, he's quiet as he can, heading around the back and going in through the back door. Whoever was here had done a sloppy job; neither the cartel nor Fring would have left a whole window broken in plain sight, not to say that he's ready to let his guard down, it's just that he's about eighty-percent sure he can get a few good shots in on whoever is here for him; maybe it's just some gang thug trying to get Jesse for something he'd done back when they'd been dealing local.

The television is on.

Something about the sound, about the noise of what's clearly cartoons being played, eases something in his chest, has him breathing a little easier. Slowly he makes his way to the living room, can see the light of the TV before he even gets there, and hears a quiet snort of laughter. It's... not what he was expecting. Standing in the doorway, he finally sees the culprit of the break-in. 

The kid couldn't be older than sixteen, his eyes glued to the screen, wearing a shirt that Jesse's pretty sure is his. There's the distinct and _heavy_ smell of weed in the air, and it takes the kid a few minutes to notice Jesse in the doorway, but when he does, he jumps about a foot in the air, throwing the box of crackers he'd been eating, halfway across the room.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?" His hands are up, placating, _cowering_ , fear in his wide, dark eyes as his gaze snaps from Jesse's face to the gun he'd forgotten was in his hand. His voice is surprisingly high, and Jesse panics for the barest moment, wondering how old the kid really is.

"I live here." It's not hostile - _okay_ , it's a little hostile, the kid had broken his window, was wearing his clothes, and eating his food, though he's pretty sure the crackers are stale - but he gently and clearly puts the gun down, and steps away from it, "who are you?"

The kid is swearing under his breath, obviously panicking, rubbing absent-mindedly at his sternum.

"Shit, man, I thought this place was abandoned, I just -" and then he's off and swearing again, "please don't call the cops." And, _fuck no_ , he's not gonna call the cops, but he's pretty sure he's gotta call someone.

"If it was abandoned, there probably wouldn't be any electricity," Jesse sighs after a beat, taking time to process the situation at hand, "or edible food, by the way." The kid is silent, swallowing thickly, still definitely looking like he wants to bolt from the house. Jesse scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. This is _not_ how he'd planned to spend the first day of his retirement. "What's your name? Where're your parents?"

The kid's name is Curtis, and he's cagey about his parents, a physical sense of discomfort tightening his shoulders at their mere mention. Jesse knows that feeling all too well, though when he sighs, he feels it deep in his bones.

"Is there anyone else you can crash with? This is _my_ house," it feels weird just... having a kid here. Feels a little like kidnapping, and Jesse's trying to keep his nose clean. Curtis, however, makes a face like he's bitten into a lemon, Jesse's pretty sure that the kid's not even aware that he's wringing his hands.

"I do..." But he sounds hesitant.

"Good; go there." Jesse walks past him, to the door, opening it, not that Curtis moves a muscle, still looking uncomfortable and high in the middle of the living room.

"Can I stay here a bit longer? Just a couple of day?"

The words fill the space between them, and Jesse has to take a few moments to consider what about him, about this trashed house, made the kid want to stay. Jesse had walked in with a _gun_ of all things, and yet the kid had the gall to ask if he could keep staying here.

"I just, I thought that dad probably wouldn't look for me in a crack den, you know?"

 _Oh_.

"My house isn't a crack den," is not what Jesse had planned to say in light of this information, still holding the handle of the door, sunlight turning his hardwood floors a cheerful honey-brown. 

"It's a bit of a shithole," Curtis casts his gaze around the room, the anxious set of his shoulders relaxing as he takes in the sights he'd come to regard as home for the past few days, around to the graffiti on the walls, and the dried blood stains that Jesse _really_ should have cleaned up a _long_ time ago. 

" _Hey_ , you broke into _my_ house, you little shit, don't call it a shithole," Jesse grumbles, and Curtis looks like he immediately regrets what he said, muttering out a quiet apology. Neither is sure where to go from there, until the kid asks again, quieter this time. Jesse closes the door, nodding finally. "You can stay until, I don't know, Friday, I guess?" The grateful look in Curtis's eyes hurts just a little to look at.

The kid smokes the weed he'd found stashed in the fireplace, eats Jesse's mostly stale food, and seems to fit Jesse's clothes better than Jesse himself does; he's not even sure if the kid has clothes of his own. He sleeps on the sofa, doesn't do much of anything during the day, and doesn't seem to like to leave the house.

" _What do you mean_ 'there's a kid at your house'?" Badger think's it's a goof, if his tone is anything to go by. Jesse had run through the list of every single person he knew who could help, and who wouldn't immediately call the cops, and since Mike had blocked his number - _or more likely, destroyed the phone with the number Jesse had_ \- and he honestly didn't want to see Mr White's face until he could look at it and not see that poor kid in the desert, that left exactly two people.

"I mean there's a fuckin' kid sitting on my sofa, dude." Jesse hisses, as if worried about being overheard, despite the fact that the TV's loud enough that he could probably yell and the kid would be none the wiser.

" _Why_?"

"He broke in, he's been squatting here for like a week! Eating all my shit, wearing my clothes."

" _What about his parents?_ " 

Jesse hesitates; Curtis hasn't said much about his parents, but Jesse can gather enough from context clues that they're not the sort of people who deserve to raise a kid. _Jesus fuck,_ when did he and his trashy house become a better option. 

"I dunno, they're not in the picture is all, this is weird as fuck, dude, I don't know what to do," Jesse admits, rubbing at his forehead, and he can almost hear Badger deliberating on the other end of the line.

" _What about school?_ "

"What _about_ school?" Jesse frowns, and Badger makes a noise in the back of his throat.

" _He's a kid, right? Shouldn't he have school or some shit?_ " And as Badger says it, Jesse can't even believe he hadn't thought of it, eyes going wide as he skitters from his bed, from his room, down the stairs.

"Hey, Curtis _hey_ ," he holds a hand over the receiver, as he leans over the railing from the landing into the living room. Curtis's gaze flicks from whatever he's watching, up to where Jesse is standing just behind the TV, and sits up a little straighter, "do you have like, school and shit that you need to be at?" After a beat, the kid shakes his head.

"I was doing this apprenticeship thing before, um, before the whole... uh, _me-living-here_ thing," he explains, fidgeting with the sleeve of the jacket he'd co-opted, and Jesse frowns a little.

"You don't live here, you're squatting here;" he corrected automatically, "will your apprenticeship people look for you? Are they expecting you?" Curtis's expression falls a little as he shakes his head, shrugging with a little ' _probably not_ '. 

"Who are you talking to?" Curtis tenses at the sight of the phone in Jesse's hand, his mind already jumping to the worst possible conclusion, but Jesse's quick to reassure him.

"A friend of mine, Badger." 

"Badger?" 

There are these moments that shine through, of personality, of amusement and skepticism, between the anxiety, or hazy high; Curtis, Jesse muses, was probably a pretty funny kid when he wasn't nervous all the time. After a beat, the kid seems satisfied that Jesse's not calling the cops or child protective services, and shrugs, lets the strange name slide and the tension ease from his shoulders, going back to watching TV.

"No, he doesn't go to school," Jesse puts the phone to his ear after taking a moment to processes the situation. Badger makes another noise, something indecipherable, and Jesse sighs in return, heading back up to his bedroom. 

" _Alright man, I'll be there in like, fifteen I guess. Have you guys had food yet? I could really go for a good Arby's steak sandwich right now, you know?_ " He rattles off, taking a deep breath, before saying goodbye to a bemused Jesse, hanging up promptly. 

What the _shit_ even was his life right now?

When Jesse opens the door, Badger greets them both with a bright smile, and a plastic bag on each arm with food inside. Curtis is instantly on his feet, eyes wide and nervous, and Jesse considers that he probably should have told him that they were having guests, but Jesse had essentially been going through an existential crisis since Badger had hung up, and hadn't even considered that it would freak the kid out, having an unexpected guest.

"Hey little man, I'm Badger, you hungry?" 

"I'm not little," Curtis fires off automatically, "who the fuck are you? Who is this?" His nervous gaze turns to Jesse, who in turn, frowns at Badger.

"I'm Badger, man, I just said that; I brought dinner, you're not vegetarian or anything are you? I bought so many sandwiches." Badger raised his arms in triumph, with the plastic bags swinging enticingly, the bag steaming up from the warmth of the food inside. 

"This is my friend who I was on the phone with, Badger, he's cool, trust me." Jesse said, feeling the weight of Curtis's gaze on him. At that, the kid took a moment to evaluate the newcomer with a hesitant skepticism.

"You're _cool_?" He asked, with the air of someone who just wanted to know whether or not the cops were about to be called on them.

"As ice, man," Badger agreed with a surprising sincerity, before he found his attention turning to the TV, "oh shit, is that _CatDog_? I haven't seen that show in years!" And it seems to be enough to convince Curtis that he's harmless. Badger's probably the least threatening friend that Jesse has, which isn't that hard, considering Jesse's remaining friends are former junkies and hitmen, not that Mike would say they're friends, but Jesse quietly likes to think they are. But the point is, Badger's a big kid at heart, and since getting and staying clean, he's been working odd jobs around town and trying to keep his nose clean, but he's not a narc; Curtis _adores_ him. 

Badger comes over a few nights in a row, always with food, and Jesse starts to feel guilty, because he's got _five million fucking dollars_ sitting in the trunk of his car, untouched. So he goes out to get groceries.

"Do you... do you wanna come with me?" Jesse asks, still unsure as to how to navigate sort of living with this teenager. It's Saturday afternoon, Curtis has not made a move to leave, and Jesse hasn't exactly felt inclined to remind him. Curtis is, however, cleaning up all the trash from the past few nights, fast food wrappers, cans of soft drink, half a serve of chips that had made it's way across the whole table.

"I'm good," Curtis says, far too chipper, probably too comfortable in this house, though that thought has been bothering Jesse less as the days wear on. He does turn, however, trash bag in hand, hopeful look in his eyes, "could you get some poptarts?"

"Poptarts?" Jesse repeats, with only slight disbelief in his words.

"Cherry ones."

"Cherry poptarts," Jesse says slowly, as if deliberating, before giving a single nod, "anything else?" Curtis is wearing a look like he didn't think he'd even get this far, and he stumbles over his words for a minute, before asking for salt and vinegar chips. Jesse actually smiles when he agrees. "Well, if you think of anything you want, uh, text me." He hesitates, pulling out his own phone, stepping towards Curtis, about to give the kid his number, but he's cut off before he can.

"I don't have a phone, dude," Curtis tells him, and Jesse scoffs. _Fucking yeah, alright, a kid in this day and age without a phone? Not likely._ But Curtis seems serious, though he laughs a little uncomfortably as he explains, "government trackers and all that shit, don't need that kinda noise, you know?" But Jesse has a feeling that it wasn't the government tracking his phone. 

"Then I guess you'll have to smoke signal me," Jesse says, and the words do their job of lightening the mood. Curtis snorts, rolling his eyes.

"What, good ol' carrier pigeon too high-tech for you?" He asks, and Jesse can't help but laugh at that.

The burner phone he picks up on the way back from the store is twenty dollars, doesn't even have a camera in it, and it's only game is Snake. He puts his number into it, and tries not to make a big _thing_ of it as he hands it over when unpacking the groceries.

"Can't be tracked," he tells Curtis, who's gone very quiet, "all it really does is call and text, but if I'm ever out and you need something, you know, you don't have to send a carrier pigeon to find me, or whatever." He's trying to be nonchalant about it, but Curtis is still not saying anything. When he turns, the kid is regarding him with a strange sort of gratefulness.

"It's cool as shit, thanks dude." But there's a surprisingly genuine quality to his voice. He spends the night playing Snake, sitting next to Jesse on the sofa while Jesse plays _Halo_ until it's unreasonably late, or unreasonably early, depending on who you ask. 

Skinny Pete turns up the next day, because Jesse knew it was just a matter of time before he showed up, and was honestly surprised it had taken this long. Badger vouches for him, which is good enough for Curtis, who goes back to playing Crash Team Racing, and waves Badger over, already trash talking, taking the new addition in stride.

"That's a whole fuckin' kid in your living room, dude, what the fuck?" Pete half laughs, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, watching Jesse watch a frying pan full of sausages.

"I know, this is weird as shit, man."

And they go through the script that Jesse had already been over with Badger; where's the parents? Will people be looking for him? Shouldn't he be in school? 

And then there's a new one.

"Like, no offence Jesse, man, but why is he still in your house?" Pete asks, concerned. Jesse's got him mashing potatoes, not that he really seems to notice, far too invested in the conversation at hand.

"I'm not going to throw him out on the street, I'm not an asshole," Jesse reasoned, arms crossed as he watched a bowl of peas spin slowly in the microwave.

"Is there somewhere he can go? If the cops knock at your door, you know this looks bad, right?" It's not that Pete dislikes Curtis, for all that he's heard of the kid, and the little that he's actually spoken to him, he thinks he's pretty cool, but _one_ of them has to look at the big picture.

"Oh it looks awful," Jesse agreed, "straight up looks like I kidnapped him, and you know, with all the money I got from all the shit with Mister White-"

"Yeah, about that dude, are you still... like... _cooking_ , with this kid around?" 

"No!" Jesse responds quickly, before lowering his voice, looking away from the microwave, "I got out of that business, got bought out, I'm not- I wouldn't endanger a kid like that, fuck dude, you know I wouldn't-"

"I know, I know!" Pete quickly assured him, still idly mashing the potatoes, though they were pretty thoroughly done by now, "you just never tell us anything, man, we don't know what's happening, you know?" 

"Hey, switch?" Jesse offers, holding out his hands for the potato, and Pete steps through his space to take his place by the microwave. Jesse opens the fridge, adds milk and butter to the potato, and begins mixing once more, leaning against the counter himself, "I'm out of the game now is all, and I'm comfortable, okay, like cash-wise? You guys don't need to worry." 

A silence falls over them, the sound of Badger and Curtis playing video games in the other room creating a surprisingly comforting back drop to the moment. The peas come out of the microwave, and Jesse directs Pete to where the plates sat, still in their box on the table.

"You bought plates?" It's with a bright smile that Pete turns to Jesse, brand new china plates in either hand. Jesse chuckles a little self consciously.

"We mostly just eat junk and microwaveable shit, thought if you and Badger were both comin' over we could get a little fancy, pretend like we're not total dirtbags."

"Yeah, alright man," Pete smirked, though his sarcasm was fond, "burnt sausages and mashed potato; we're living like kings."

Pete and Badger are over at the house more than they aren't in the following weeks, that is, when they're not working, tending to their own lives. And perhaps having them there motivates Jesse to take a bit more care with what he gives Curtis; it not worth it to have four microwave meals when he could just cook something cheaper for the four of them. Usually it's bachelor meals; spaghetti, sausages, steak, easy and low effort, but everyone seems to enjoy it well enough, and Curtis enjoys the company. They stay up late watching TV, or playing videogames, and eventually Jesse invested in a blow up mattress.

Curtis doesn't answer the door when people knock; in fact, if people knock and he's not expecting anyone, he usually goes and hides upstairs. He won't _say_ he's hiding, but he is. He's far less skittish, is relaxed enough around Jesse, Pete, and Badger, but he still won't leave the house. They don't hear anything about a missing kid, on the news or otherwise; Jesse tries to reason that no news is good news. All that matters is that no cops have come knocking at his door; he didn't need that kind of heat.

"What about that lawyer guy you know?" 

Jesse had been avoiding calling Saul, his gut telling him that Saul would call him an idiot for harboring a child, tell him _exactly_ how illegal it would look to any cops, how that would lead to him somehow being connected to Mr White and Fring and Mike, and how he'd end up in jail for life. Saul would, of course, help him - _how, he's not sure_ \- but it would be begrudging, and Jesse doesn't want a lecture for doing what he's pretty sure is a good thing.

But it's been almost three weeks and Curtis is still crashing on the blow up mattress in the spare room; he's found a home in Jesse's reclusive life, with his off-beat friends, in his old, worn clothes. Badger jokes that he's going to get a vitamin deficiency from staying inside all the time, so tentatively Curtis starts to spend afternoons in the backyard. 

Jesse learns, a month in, that Curtis had been doing a carpentry apprenticeship before he'd broken into Jesse's house to start living there. It's a warm afternoon, sunlight glowing against the boy's skin, looking as though it was giving his wavy, dark hair golden highlights. His hair had been rough when they'd first met, uneven, as though Curtis had done it himself, and none too gently either. Jesse had done his best to fix it up, shaving the sides when Curtis had tentatively asked him to, making the top look neat and short. Something about the haircut had breathed new life into the boy, perhaps it makes him feel unrecognizable, or like he was getting rid of his past. Maybe Jesse's reading too much into a haircut. It was nice to see the kid happy; he's smiling now, this afternoon, learning to be relaxed in the open air, and he admits he misses working with his hands. Jesse isn't quite sure how to help, but Curtis tells him that he doesn't need to help, that carpentry tools - _good ones_ \- are expensive, and he'd honestly be happy working with an _IKEA_ flat pack, or fixing broken chairs.

Jesse buys a bed frame from IKEA and brings it home, and Curtis wears that grateful little smile of his for a full week, the smile only growing wider when he's put it all together, and Jesse finds a mattress for it. One of the spare rooms turns into Curtis's room, and bit by bit, it collects more furniture, more pieces that Curtis can call his own. Pete and Badger go clothes shopping and they'll usually bring home things they think he'll like, clothes of his own, though he still seems to prefer living in Jesse's hand-me-downs.

"Why did you not come to me first?" Saul's got his head in his hands, looking at Jesse like every minute he spends in his presence takes another year off of his life.

Honestly, Saul hadn't even crossed Jesse's mind at first, but he probably should have, and since Badger had brought him up, Jesse's been actively trying not to think about going to him. He _really_ did not need a lecture.

"Just listen, man, what can I do?"

And here it is again; the dance. The script. The _who/what/when/where/why_ of it all.

"That kid is keeping a lot of shit from you; I can't advise until I know what his circumstances are. I don't wanna forge some papers saying he's your brother or whatever, only for his mom to come busting in my door, you hear me?" And yeah, okay, maybe he's right. Jesse _still_ doesn't know why Curtis is living with him, why his parents aren't looking for him, why no-one is. He'd sort of just... accepted it.

Curtis, when Jesse asks him directly about it, looks like he did back on day one, nervous, anxious, _uncomfortable_.

"It's not - don't worry about it, okay? You're not going to get in trouble or whatever," he tried, but Jesse wouldn't let him off that easily. It's a cool, autumn evening, and Pete and Badger are in the kitchen struggling to prep a chicken to bake. From the sound of it, they're arguing over whether it needs stuffing, both too loud to be able to hear Jesse and Curtis's quiet coversation on the sofa.

"Dude, I'm getting shit sorted so we don't need to worry, I've got a guy who's gonna help, but I need to know _why_ , alright?" And God, he's so patient, will only push gently, will only push because he has to, he doesn't like seeing Curtis like this, but the kid still hesitates.

"What? What guy?" Curtis asks, deflecting, concern etched in the lines of his frown, "hey, while we're asking things," his tone turns a little hostile, a little angry, "can we talk about how you don't work, and yet you can afford all this shit."

"I'm retired." Jesse snaps back, and Curtis rolls his eyes.

"Dude you're like twenty-five, _yeah fucking right_ you're retired; from what? Being a pimp?" He scoffed, and Jesse inhaled deeply, trying to keep his head; he'd hoped Curtis would just sort of accept that Jesse had means, it didn't matter how he'd gotten them.

"If you don't wanna tell me why you're here, that's on you, but you gotta go if you don't, because if we don't get this shit sorted legally -"

"My old man wants me dead." Curtis can't meet his gaze, arms crossed over his chest, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and Jesse's shocked enough that he can't even begin to form words. "I'm not like a criminal or some shit, he's just an asshole, and..." there's a visible hesitation, his hands fisting, as if aching for a fight, though he seems to shrink in on himself a little bit, "and he kicked me out, okay?" He finishes quickly, bitter and skittish and clearly not telling the whole truth. "He and my step mom don't want anything to do with me. You don't need to worry about them." 

Jesse doesn't stop Curtis when he flees to his room, doesn't push him, just lets him be. Badger takes dinner up to him when Jesse explains what had happened, though he hadn't gone into detail; it wasn't his place, after all. 

Saul, despite the vagueness of the reasoning, is happy enough knowing that Curtis's family won't actually be a problem, and sets about contacting one of his guys, someone who could forge papers, and an identity, for the kid. 

"I don't care how much it costs," Jesse finds himself saying in earnest, and Saul gives him a sharp smile.

"That's the spirit, kid."

The first time in two months that Curtis had left the premises is when he goes to Saul Goodman's office to get his photo taken for the passport and ID with his new name, his new identity.

"You want a new middle name, kid? You can be anyone you like," Saul offers, and Curtis's whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. 

"Sebastian!" Curtis answers automatically, and even Saul seems taken aback by it, though Jesse's rather endeared by his enthusiasm, and he ruffles the kid's hair with a grin, even as Curtis smacks his hand away.

"Like the crab from _The Little Mermaid?_ " Saul asks, though he's already writing it down. Curtis rolls his eyes.

"Like the composer, _duh_ ," Curtis answers with a roll of his eyes, and Saul shakes his head.

"I don't know what you kids are into these days, how was I supposed to know you preferred Bach over Ariel?" 

The passport comes, and Curtis won't stop grinning at it. 

_Curtis Sebastian Pinkman_

If people ask, he's Jesse's younger brother, and he's _over the moon_ about it. Jesse, for his part, wants to celebrate somehow. Though Curtis is hesitant, he agrees to go to an actual, fancy restaurant, and the four of them, him, Jesse, Pete, and Badger, _do_ eat like kings for the night. He's still a little nervous, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be pulled out from under him, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"Listen, dude, I don't know why you wanted to live with my man Jesse, here, but if you see anyone who did you dirty before, point 'em out, we'll _talk_ to 'em, you know?" Skinny Pete wraps an arm around his shoulders, nodding sincerely, and the other two seemed to share the sentiment, "we're family now, yo, we're ride or die." And that, more than anything, is what gets Curtis to finally relax. 

Everything's looking good, looking _great_ , Jesse's not sure when exactly the hollow feeling in his chest had disappeared, but he has a funny feeling it coincided with the arrival of Curtis. So when the kid himself comes to Jesse on a Thursday afternoon, not two days after he'd gotten his new ID, looking as though he'd just committed a murder and was about to confess, Jesse feels like a deer caught in the headlights. He's wearing one of Jesse's sweaters, one that dwarfs even Jesse, coming down well past his hands, and a pair of Pete's jeans that had been put through the wash about six times before Jesse had felt comfortable letting Curtis wear them. Sometimes he looked _so very young_.

"Hey, Jesse, man, I... feel terrible -" Curtis began, avoiding Jesse's gaze, who was already panicking.

"Are you sick? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine- I just, like, you've spent all this money and shit on me - don't worry, I won't ask where you got it from - but like, I feel selfish, you know? Well you probably don't," he's rambling, fidgeting with his sleeves, nervous energy pouring off of him in waves, "but like, I just figured that, well, in case we ever _do_ run into my dad, which I really hope we don't, I do sort of think Skinny Pete _would_ fight him -"

"Curt, your dad's an asshole, _I'd_ fight him if I saw him," Jesse said with a gentle chuckle, and Curtis looks to him, equal parts nervous and thankful.

"I just, I thought I should tell you, in case any like, medical issues comes up, or my asshole family, or something, I don't know, I'd rather you hear it from me instead of some asshole; I'm trans." And he's flinching a little, like he's worried Jesse might hit him, or yell at him, like he's reliving this situation going _far_ worse in the past. Jesse, however, just blinks slowly, confusion slowly making it's way into his expression.

"I don't -" blinking slowly, Jesse's head tips to the side, confused, half-smile on his lips, "sorry, dude, I don't know what that, uh, what that means. Is it like a, like a gay thing?"

This... wasn't the reaction that Curtis was expecting, but hearing Jesse's non-judgmental tone had him hopeful, and he laughed a little, though it was clear he was still nervous.

"No, like, I was born with lady's, like, _bits_ , I guess you could say? See, I'm a dude, but I also have a va-" he tried to explain, though Jesse's eyebrows shot up, waving off the rest of the rest of the word before it left Curtis's lips. He didn't need his new kid brother's intimate details like this.

"Got it!" He cut Curtis off, and the kid's expression feel for a moment, but Jesse rests a hand on his shoulder, after a beat, he takes a long, hesitant breath.

"Listen, I'm gonna be quite honest with you man, I didn't realise that was a thing," and it's blunt, but not hostile, and Curtis is nodding, though it feels as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, "but for me, life is too fuckin' short to be worrying about other people's _bits,_ or whatever the fuck; you're my brother, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I don't give a shit about who people thought you were before that."

Things start to make sense after that, Curtis's nervousness, his affinity for Jesse's clothes, his excitement over the new ID. Having told Jesse, and having him react the way he did, it's not long before he tells Badger and Skinny Pete, though they both react about the same, with confusion, but over all positivity; all three of the adults had seen their fair share of weird and wonderful things, something like this was easy to comprehend; Curtis was Curtis, the same kid they'd known since day one. 

Nothing changes, except the changes they all saw coming; the boys helped Curtis build furniture so Pete and Badger could move in, and he spent more time outside than before, going to the store, going to the park. Pete mentions that he misses playing piano, in an offhand way, watching as Badger and Jesse continue to somehow miss each other in _Call of Duty_ , and Curtis is mostly asleep in his lap while Pete scratches at his scalp. In less than a week, Jesse's bringing home a keyboard, and Pete's as surprised as he is overjoyed, and agrees to teach the kid how to play.

They all knew that Jesse was well off after he'd gotten out of the business, but they'd never realised _the extent_.

"Do you need anything for your... _you know_ ," Jesse gestures vaguely to his own body, and Curtis snorts out a laugh. He's been doing that a lot more lately, laughing, smiling, seems more comfortable in his own skin. Jesse, awkward as ever, isn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Pads and tampons, if you're offering," Curtis says and Jesse seems surprised, "I've sort of just been using toilet paper, and it's been hell."

"So you still -?" And Curtis saves him from his embarrassment with a laugh and a nod.

"Unfortunately."

And it's here that Jesse realises that, though he loves and adores Curtis, he has no idea what the kid goes through. But there's libraries. And internet forums. And he asks Pete and Badger, who know about the same as he does, that being _jack shit_ , so they spend a while catching up to their little brother. The people on the internet, the other trans people they find, they tell them that their willingness to learn is sweet, but more than anything they should talk to Curtis; more than anyone else, he knows what he needs.

"Do you," Pete's not quite sure how to start, but he's using that sort of hesitant but interested tone they take when they ask about trans things, Curtis finds it sweet more than anything else, that they're really trying so hard to understand, to help, "do you, what's the word, bind? I think it is? I read about that," he's quick to explain, and Curtis tells him he does, but that it's hard since he doesn't have a proper binder. 

"Dude, you should talk to Jesse, I'm sure he would be happy to hook you up with one that's not gonna crush your ribs or lungs or whatever it does."

Curtis really doesn't want to be a bother, despite how he knows that his current binding technique is unsafe; it shouldn't be _too_ expensive, Jesse had impulse bought a keyboard after all, one binder wouldn't hurt. So he asks, and Jesse seems more than happy to oblige. Anything, _anything_ for his little brother.

Years later, Jesse will muse once more, _how the_ shit _did this become his life_? Because he's still not allowed to see his real family, his little brother by blood. Because the little brother he'd found had finally managed to get a restraining order on the family who'd put him through hell for half his life. Because his drug money, his blood money, is being used for Curtis's surgery, for his hormones, to help him with college, or to go back to his apprenticeship; something so wrong being used for something so right.

He's never really been thankful for Mr White that often before, but now, he can't help it. Speaking of, he doesn't see Mr White, it's been years since the police have knocked on his door, and he hasn't felt hollow in a _very_ long time.


End file.
